


In Plain Sight

by FangQueen



Series: Daily Deviant: Membership Posting Date [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Disparity (46/26), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anonymity, Canon Divergent, Drinking, Glamours and Disguises, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hopeful Ending, Longing, M/M, Magical connections, Muggle Life, Muggle Names, Sex in the Dark, Smoking, Snape lives au, Some mention of grief/loss, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: Draco Malfoy has spent the last several years living as Dillon Manning ― a Muggle with few friends, perhaps a slight nicotine addiction, and a menial job at a bistro in Paris. He tries not to think about his past and the world of magic he left behind. And before that day, he'd thought Severus Snape was dead.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Severus Snape
Series: Daily Deviant: Membership Posting Date [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/933396
Comments: 11
Kudos: 98
Collections: Daily Deviant





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elfflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfflame/gifts).



> Written for [Daily Deviant's Banging Birthday 2020](https://daily-deviant.dreamwidth.org/27892.html), in response to elfflame’s request for:
> 
>  **This Banging Birthday I Wish For…**  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Severus/Draco or Remus/Regulus  
>  **Kinks/Themes:** UST, Longing, Lost love  
>  **Tone:** Melancholy to hopeful  
>  **Dealbreakers:** Unhappy ending, dead characters, usual nos  
>  **Prompt:** Though one or both are long thought dead by the other, a chance meeting gives them a second chance at something beautiful together.
> 
> Thank you so much to my prompter for the inspiration for this piece. I worry that I've strayed a bit from the given path on this one, but I do hope I've captured enough of the essence what you were looking for that you still enjoy it. <3 You might also be asking yourself why I set this in France when I've never personally been and don't speak the language myself? I don't know either, lol. Thank you to those on the Discords who offered their expertise, and to pineau_noir for amazing beta work at the eleventh hour! I apologize for any further mistakes.

Draco Malfoy was no stranger to the way living purely Muggle could dull a wizard's senses. The streets of Paris, where he'd spent the past several years of his life, held their own sort of magical beauty. And he ― well, he was getting by. Surviving. He'd gone so long without magic, he didn't think he'd ever really notice if he came across it again.

And now, it felt like he was waking from a long dream.

It had been a relatively normal day at the restaurant before he'd noticed the man. He was seated in André's section, having lunch. They'd locked eyes across the dining room, and there'd been this magnetic pull in Draco's chest, a spark in his veins like a shock to his system.

There was nothing remarkable about the man. He seemed courteous, but said little. He didn't look like a local. Which wasn't unusual in and of itself ― they saw a lot of tourists. His hair was mousy brown, curling a little around the ears, and he wore a shirt and trousers that seemed slightly too large for his thin frame. He'd been reading a hardcover book ― a thriller, from the looks of it ― in between bites of his croque monsieur.

But he had a quiet mystery to him. One that Draco wanted to unravel, for reasons that escaped him.

He reminded Draco of someone.

And Draco might have been going insane.

" _Quoi de neuf_?" said André when Draco walked past the wait station a moment later.

"Going on my smoke break," he replied, and pushed his way out to the alley.

* * *

Another week passed before Draco saw the man again.

He was just settling into his Tuesday lunch shift when the man was seated at one of his tables. When Draco approached, he was waiting patiently.

"Hello, my name is Dillon, and I'll be your server today."

The man stared up at him for a moment before nodding in greeting. The look in his eye was more than a little unnerving. Draco put on what he hoped was a winning smile, but he had a feeling he failed.

"Can I start you with something to drink?"

The man hummed to himself. He hadn't even opened his menu. It lay untouched on the table in front of him, and his eyes never left Draco's face.

"A citron presse, please, and the ham and cheese crepes."

He spoke flawless French, despite it being obvious he was English. Better than Draco's, even, and he'd been living here for nearly seven years.

Draco brought the man's beverage, all the while feeling his eyes on him. When he later returned with his food, the man was slowly stirring sugar into his glass. Draco set down the plate with a simple acknowledgement and turned to leave.

"Dillon, is it?"

He didn't ask in French, this time. He asked in English ― an English drawl that Draco suddenly thought he should recognize. His pulse quickened, and he found himself blinking at the man a moment before answering.

"Yes, sir," Draco said, feeling the unfamiliar shift of his posh English in his mouth. "Can I get you anything else?"

The man started. His gaze flicked to Draco's eyes, up to his hair. The brown contacts that hid the natural grey of his eyes, the dyed brown quiff styled up off his forehead.

Then he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and set his credit card on the table.

"No, that'll be all, thank you."

"Of course, sir."

Draco marched over to the POS, his legs unsteady. As he punched the selections into the machine, he glanced down at the card in his hand.

Simon Scott.

It felt like a plain name. As _average_ and _Muggle_ , perhaps, as Dillon Manning. He didn't know why he felt strange about that. He grimaced ― and itched for a cigarette. It was impossible, Professor...no. They didn't even look alike.

He delivered Mr. Scott's receipt and scrambled away so fast, he was sure there wouldn't be a tip when he came back. Much to his surprise, the man left shortly afterwards, and Draco found two €10 notes waiting for him on the table.

"He must like you," André teased when Draco brought it up at the end of their shift. "He certainly didn't give _me_ that much."

"Yeah," Draco mumbled, the weight of those bills heavy in his pocket. "He must."

* * *

Simon Scott had become a bit of a regular after that point. He wasn't always seated in Draco's section, but there was a draw there, like Draco couldn't think straight when he was in the room ― and when he _was_ , their conversation was stilted and perfunctory, but always, _always_ in English.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you."

Simon had come for dinner that evening ― a slight change of pace from his usual quick lunch. He'd taken his time, pouring over his new book and savoring his meal.

Draco had brought the check with an expression of gratitude and a courteous nod of his head. He'd come to expect absurdly high tips from Simon, regardless of how their interactions went, and Draco had decided some amount of respect was due for that. Rumour had it that Draco was still the only server receiving any tips. It was something he tried not to think about often.

It had been such a small, stupid mistake. Draco had felt his left sleeve riding up as he walked to Simon's table. He'd set the check down with his left hand, his wrist facing out ― and before he'd had a chance to react, he'd felt Simon's fingers brush against the back of his arm.

In a moment, everything changed. Something zipped, unseen, up Draco's arm, making his hair stand on end. He gasped aloud ― immediately flushing from embarrassment, but unable to stop himself. His nerves came alive, his mind buzzing, and he nearly had to grab hold of the table to keep himself from toppling over.

 _Magic_. He thirsted for it, so sudden and strong, he was dizzy from it. This wasn't the low hum he'd occasionally felt when he was younger. This was a surge, a wave that washed over him and drew him towards its source.

Which was, of course, this man sat before him now.

After all this time, had they found him? Was 'Simon Scott' an Auror? Draco had already been to Azkaban once, and he'd kept his hands clean since the war. Surely they couldn't send him away a second time. He hadn't even wielded a wand since he was eighteen. He kept his hair dyed dark, he wore coloured contacts, and he'd been saving to get his Mark covered up. He'd done everything he could to distance himself from his previous life. How could they have known?

Simon withdrew his hand, looking ashamed and shaken himself. "Interesting design," he said, eyes trained on the snake head peeking out from his sleeve, and Draco felt his pulse jump in his throat. "I imagine it came at a terrible price."

"Ah, well, it was ―" Draco stammered, taking a step back from the table. A trail of magic electrified the space between them, reaching out to him with grasping, invisible hands. He avoided Simon's gaze, looking for an out, a distraction. "I'll, er ― I'll get you some more water, shall I?"

"Draco ―"

"How do you ―?"

And then he saw it. The air around Simon Scott shimmered and parted, and for a moment, Draco caught a glimpse of the layer beneath the facade. Time stood still, and Draco went pale as he stared at the face of a ghost.

"If you'll," Draco swallowed, "if you'll excuse me a moment."

It was nearing the end of summer, and the air in the alley behind the restaurant was sweltering. Draco lit a cigarette, his hands trembling. He couldn't think straight, couldn't _imagine_ walking back in there so long as _that man_ still sat at his table. It wasn't possible ― there was _no way_ it was possible.

He heard the crunch of gravel and looked up.

There, coming towards him from the distant street, looking solemn and hesitant, was Simon Scott ―

No, not Simon.

Severus Snape.

Draco had been right, they hadn't looked alike in the slightest. Not to mention, Severus Snape was meant to be six feet deep, in a tidy little plot outside Hogsmeade. Draco couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the impossibility of him standing here, now, dressed as another man, but giving him a look he remembered so well. And yet, he felt like he should've known, somehow. He should've known from that very first day, when they locked eyes across the dining room, when he'd felt that inexplicable pull, that _desire_ for a connection he'd long since lost.

"I paid my tab in cash. You can keep the remainder."

Draco thought he should say 'thank you', but couldn't convince his lips to move. Instead, he simply stared, listening to passersby on the sidewalk, feeling so far from real, he wondered how he was still standing there at all.

"Are you enjoying this life?"

Draco scoffed, coming back to himself. His mouth felt ashy, and he flicked his half-finished cigarette away, suddenly having lost the taste for it.

"What's not to enjoy? I have a job, a flat, some friends."

It wasn't entirely true. The friends bit, at least. He wanted to think it was whenever he called them, when they went to the cinema, or out for food, drinks, dancing. When they sat on his couch in his tiny, immaculately decorated and yet incredibly soulless flat and talked to him about their lives, asked him about his, and he told them a complete lie with an earnest smile.

"But they don't _really_ know you," Snape said softly, and Draco felt his emotions boil over.

"Says a man who can't even step outside wearing his own face."

Snape raised a brow, his eyes flicking to Draco's hair as if to say 'look who's talking'. Still looking at Simon Scott, with the same 'please don't notice me' hair, it made Draco want to punch him. He thought of the testimony Potter had given on Snape's behalf, claiming him a brave man who waged unseen for years in the name of 'good'. He thought of the testimony Potter had given on Draco's own behalf, claiming he was a defenceless kid who'd only acted in the interest of protecting his family, who'd been misguided by outdated morals, and who'd never known any better ― and yet was still fully responsible for everything he'd been a part of. He'd served a year in Azkaban for that assertion. Snape had gotten a gravesite strewn with fresh flowers and an inspirational quote etched on the stone. And Snape thought he had to act like the rest of them? That there wouldn't be a crowd of admirers waiting for him around every corner of every Wizarding neighborhood?

Draco wanted to tell him how ridiculous he was, standing there with his messy hair and his plain face, when he had a million welcoming arms to go back to. He wanted to tell him how torturous it had been to continue living, knowing the man who'd been there for him ― who'd _killed_ to save his soul from similar damnation ― had died in the end, and that Draco had been left with no way to properly thank him. How haunted he was by every wrong word he ever said, every wrong choice he ever made, how many completely rational questions about the life he'd grown up with that he'd never chosen to ask ― how many people he might've saved had he come to senses sooner. How on the day they'd released him from Azkaban and tried to hand him back his wand ― the one Potter had returned to him prior to his trial, with nothing but an apologetic grimace ― he'd told them to keep it, because it had never done him any good anyway.

But he didn't say any of that. He turned to duck back inside, and when Snape went to say something to stop him, Draco hissed with such vehemence that he saw Snape physically lean away from him.

"They think you were a hero! You have no reason to hide!"

He didn't say what he _really_ wanted to say to him. He let the door swing shut behind him, severing the magical pull that had been there all along.

* * *

Severus Snape was dead.

That was something Draco had thought he'd known for a solid fact until about six hours ago. Now he knew he'd been wrong, it was like his entire world had been flipped on end. He'd floated through the remainder of his shift in a daze, and when he'd arrived home later in the night, all he'd wanted to do was drink.

He'd gone to a well frequented gay club in a basement in Le Marais and lost himself to the music. He wasn't drunk even now, and he wanted to be, but he kept moving, the sway of bodies around him the only thing keeping his mind off of Snape.

It wasn't much help, even so.

Draco had gone so long without, he _craved_ it. The magic he'd felt radiating from Snape's aura, like a beacon ― a light in the distance, calling him home. But it was a home he'd abandoned long ago, and hadn't had any desire to go back to.

Not till today, anyway.

There would always be magic within him. It was tired of being silenced. It wanted more. And that terrified him. Letting it loose had never done him any favors before. Even seeing Severus Snape ― as happy as part of Draco was to know he was really alive ― wasn't enough to calm the rage and sorrow he'd also felt for so long to make him forget that.

And yet, he couldn't get him out of his mind.

He'd looked good. The part beneath the Glamour ― the part that was all _Snape_ ― had looked very good for a man long thought dead. Nothing like one of the many rotting corpses that haunted Draco's nightmares. It was hard to cope. He'd spent so long feeling so at fault for everything, he couldn't bear seeing someone like that from his past. Living and ― well, maybe not _happy_ , but _living_ , and buying himself lunches, and reading books, and _living in Paris_.

It was nearing one in the morning when Draco felt the pull again. He'd turned on the spot, shaking off a man who'd been pawing at him for the better part of the last half hour, and looked up, and there he was.

Or rather, 'Simon' was gone ― but there was Snape, his eyes dark and his hair long, tied up in a high ponytail.

The dancers between them parted and moved aside to the rhythm of the music, shifting the crowd till it left a small hole for them in the middle.

Snape looked uncomfortable, like he didn't quite fit in his own skin. Draco wondered how long it had been since he'd left home without a Glamour.

"I promise this is entirely by coincidence."

Draco believed him, but he wondered what possible turn of fate could've made this happen, even so. Still, as soon as he'd felt that swell of magic in the room once again, he'd known he couldn't walk away from him a second time.

They stood there, staring at each other for a moment as the crowd moved around them. When Snape finally spoke again, his voice was deep, commanding as it always had been, just loud enough to reach Draco's ears over the din of the music.

"I didn't do anything for them to call me a hero."

Draco started. That hadn't been what he'd expected him to say. He felt Snape's magic reach out to him, then pull back, as if unsure.

"I lost a woman I cared for, and I changed sides, but who's to say I would've done so had her death not been a factor." Snape stepped forward, and Draco held his ground, his heart racing. "It's easy to look back and see what I did wrong and what I did right, and to make assumptions based on all that, but I am not innocent, and for every one person who thinks me a hero, there are ten more who know I'm not." He sighed, his voice older and more weary than Draco remembered. " _That_ is why I hide. Those of you who had no choice ― the younger generation that fought so many of our battles for us ― those are the true heros in my eyes."

Draco swallowed, suddenly feeling very exposed. His hands shook at his sides, his shirt sticking to his too-warm skin.

"You, of all of us, shouldn't feel any reason to hide like this. You were so young, you were too young to ―"

The song changed, and the energy in the room shifted with it. A nearby dancer bumped Draco in the back, sending him stumbling forward. He landed with his hands splayed on Snape's chest, Snape's arms holding him upright, and Snape's magic enveloping him.

The Muggle world, for all the things that made it beautiful, felt so cold and impersonal next to this. And Draco felt something, then ― something more than the magic, something he might've never had even before he'd lost it.

It _wasn't_ just magic. There was something about Snape that was so familiar ― more than the face Draco thought he'd never see again, the voice he'd never hear.

Draco kissed Snape, and it felt like heaven. Like falling from a great height, only to be caught and held at the last possible moment. Like electricity, dancing across his skin as Snape's magic circled and pulsed around him.

They both pulled back, breathing hard.

"I wasn't trying to ―"

"I was," Draco said softly, running his lips down Snape's chin. "Is that alright?"

Snape's breath hitched, hesitant, and then their lips met again, over and over, as he whispered "Yes, yes," sending shivers down to Draco's toes.

Bloody hell, he was kissing his old professor. It should've been weird, but as the traces of Snape's magic swelled around him, and Draco's own rose up to meet it, he could think of nothing that had ever felt more right.

"Should we go somewhere more private?" Snape whispered to him a moment later, when they were jostled again.

When they got to the bathroom, there was already a couple snogging against the wall, another pair who appeared to be their friends chatting at the sinks. Draco led Snape to the furthest stall and locked the door.

Snape crowded Draco up against the divider, his hands all over him, the warmth of his magic penetrating every spot he could reach. Draco sighed and sank into it, letting it overwhelm him, and parted his legs, letting Snape's thigh settle between them. This was impossible, and yet impossibly _wonderful_ , and he had to bite back a moan as Snape sucked on the space behind his ear. After all this time, they were even the same height now, Draco realised deliriously as he kissed him again, sliding his tongue past Snape's open lips.

Draco could feel Snape hardening against him, and god, he was already so hard himself, he could barely breathe. Snape's hands found their way under his t-shirt, and Draco rolled into his touch, little electric shocks of Snape's magic sparking at each swipe of his fingertips. Draco's hand flew up into Snape's hair, yanking it free from its cord so he could run his hands through it, tug it till Snape groaned and pressed into him harder.

Distantly, as if in another world entirely, Draco heard one of the other men laugh as their footsteps headed out. The door to the bathroom swung shut, leaving them alone.

"Yours?" Draco hissed against Snape's mouth. He suddenly thought he didn't want to take him back to his place ― his cramped little studio with its lack of photographs and personality and any semblance of who he used to be.

Snape pulled him tight to his chest, and spun on the spot.

In the next moment, Draco found himself in a bedroom, his head spinning as he fell back against an unfamiliar mattress. Magic warmed the air around him, the lingering effects of Apparition making him feel _awake_ and _alive_ like he hadn't in years. " _Fuck_ ," he breathed, arching his hips, feeling it wash over him again and again, even as Snape drew him back up for another kiss, tugging his shirt over his head. He fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as Snape knelt at the edge of the bed and removed his shoes, mouthing his knees through the rough material.

Snape left the lights off ― even as they slid together on top of the comforter, naked and hot and hard and kissing frantically ― and Draco wondered why. He recalled with the newfound clarity of an adult that Snape had never been entirely confident in his body. Draco thought it was really a shame as he ran his hands along Snape's sides and around to his back.

A whisper of a charm in the dark, and then Snape's fingers were slick inside him, and Draco gasped. The air was awash with magic once more, and he breathed it in, happy tears pricking at his eyes.

"Hmm. Do you like that?" Snape asked as he curled his fingers, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

"Fuck yeah," Draco moaned. Snape ran his tongue over Draco's chest, sucking at his stomach, the head of his cock. Draco bucked into his mouth.

The air crackled, alight with magic still.

"Need you. Now."

Snape slowly, agonizingly, removed his fingers, fondling Draco's bollocks and nipping his way back up to Draco's lips. Another charm slicked his cock, Draco lifted his hips, and Snape guided himself inside.

The bed rocked and creaked as Snape thrust into him, his hair falling down like curtains around Draco's face, brushing his cheeks. Snape's hands planted themselves on either side of Draco's head, and Draco gripped his biceps, pulling himself to press back against him as his cock drove into him. He moaned in response to Snape's growl as he tugged Snape's lower lip between his teeth.

"Do more."

Snape curled an arm under Draco's waist, lifting him up as he thrust hard into him. "More of what?"

"Magic," Draco panted, slinging an arm back to grip the edge of the bed.

He felt Snape's answering smirk as he sucked at the skin beneath Draco's jaw. "You can do it yourself, Draco," he whispered, the words sending shivers down Draco's spine. "Come on now."

Draco opened his eyes to a pitch black room. Suffocating and isolating, and he remembered Azkaban, and the fear, the shame, the wand he'd left behind.

But there it was inside him, as if he'd never forgotten it: _magic_. He felt it trickle through his wand arm, the arm slung over his head, reaching, grasping, and he said the first spell that entered his mind.

" _Lumos_."

In a moment, the room lit up with a brilliant, blinding light. A moment, a glimpse that stopped his heart and stilled his breath. And in it, he could see Snape's face as he gazed down at him, awe evident in his eyes, just before darkness fell once more. It was only a moment, the briefest suggestion of what he was still capable of ― but it was all that he needed.

Snape's hand wrapped around his cock, and Draco came, hard and panting, gasping, tears nearly falling from his eyes. Snape made a surprised sound, the hand holding him up twisting and tugging on the sheets as he suddenly thrust deep. Draco could feel him pulsing inside him, as their shared magic throbbed together between them.

"How did you know it was me?" Draco asked into the dark, after they'd cleaned themselves off and lay down beside each other, the ghost of Snape's cleansing charm still comforting across his skin. Even the shy whisper of his voice was loud in the quiet of the room.

He could hear Snape breathing, soft and even. "I wasn't certain before today."

Draco's left hand twitched where it curled around the edge of his pillow.

"I thought you were dead," Snape said a few moments later, when the silence had stretched too long between them.

Draco knew the rumours ― that he hadn't survived Azkaban, that he'd been taken out by the old compatriots he'd testified against, or...well. The Dementors were gone, but their essence remained.

And Snape. Thought by many to have died by the Dark Lord's hand, on that final day at Hogwarts. Draco almost couldn't believe it still ― that Snape was alive, that he was living here in Paris, that he'd somehow found Draco in a sea of millions.

Draco swallowed the thump in his throat. "So did I."

Snape chuckled, a warm and unnatural sound for him. "No, they didn't manage it, but I wanted them to think they did. And you ―?"

"Wanted them to forget me."

Snape hummed. His hand reached out to brush back Draco's hair, then wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. Draco nuzzled into the crook of Snape's neck and closed his eyes.

* * *

Draco woke to the smell of coffee wafting through the open bedroom door. The sun was just beginning to peek through the pale white curtains. He could hear Snape's soft patter from out in the kitchen.

Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching his arms up over his head. Their clothes from the previous night lay strewn on the floor around his feet. He pulled on his pants and jeans and crossed to the balcony.

That was where Snape found him a few minutes later, smoking languidly as he observed the early morning traffic of the street below. He handed Draco a cappuccino.

"Those things are terrible for you," he mused, before plucking the cigarette from between Draco's fingers and taking a drag.

Draco smirked and sipped his coffee. Below, a car honked, and a line of Muggles strode down the sidewalk in the early morning sun. He thought of the Muggle club they'd met in last night. The music, the look in Snape's eyes, and the feeling of Snape's lips on his skin. The dormant magic that had awakened in his core, that thrummed in him even now, deep down in his very bones.

"You're not going to tell anyone you found me, are you?" Draco asked. He avoided Snape's gaze, suddenly feeling childish.

"Of course not," Snape stated matter-of-factly, flicking the butt of the cigarette over the railing. "I would hope you'd do me the same courtesy."

Draco smiled to himself and reached over, running his knuckles along the back of Snape's hand. Their shared magic still crackled there, but it was different somehow. Not electrifying and mesmerizing, but comfortable. Like home. He itched for a wand for the first time in years.

"This wasn't at all what I'd intended when I realized I'd found you," Snape said, gesturing between them, before turning his hand to close it around Draco's searching fingers.

He looked content, if not a little uncomfortable. Draco could think of a few reasons why. He wanted Snape to know he'd consented to this. That things were different now, after all this time. That _they_ were different.

"But it was good. Wasn't it?"

Snape paused, then nodded, his eyes shining. "It was. But…"

"But?"

"I'm much older than you," Snape said with that same tired drawl Draco remembered. He resisted the urge to smirk. "I should've been more responsible. Used some restraint."

"I don't know that I gave you much option."

Snape grinned then, a look Draco had never seen him wear when he was a student, but that radiated happiness now. Snape moved closer, and Draco let his arms encircle him, grinning back as Snape pecked his lips and hummed, "True."

Some time later, they made their way into the kitchen, and Snape refreshed their coffee. The flat was Muggle ― same as Draco's ― but slightly bigger, cosier, filled with furniture that made Draco wonder if it had been passed down. Snape slid a couple slices of bread into the toaster and switched on a burner for a pan of sausages. Draco stood on the other side of the island, sipping his cappuccino.

Snape's wand lay on the counter between them. Draco found himself staring at it. He looked up and saw Snape watching him, flushing when he realized he'd noticed. A look passed between them, and Snape returned to his cooking.

A moment later, he said quietly, "You don't need to fear magic, Draco. That isn't what hurt you."

Draco swallowed. His fingers drummed on the side of his cup, his heartbeat picking up a pace.

"It's been so long. I don't know that I remember how to do even half of what I learned in school."

"It's not something you really forget." Snape threw a smirk over his shoulder. "You managed last night."

Draco's blush deepened. "Yes, I suppose. A bit, anyway."

"I'm happy to help you get it all back, if you like." Snape cleared his throat. "Gradually, of course. It may take some time, but you were always a good student."

Draco felt a happy little something flutter in his chest. He glanced at Snape's wand again, and he felt the magic stir inside him. Not a lust for power, but a desire for connection. For _belonging_.

Surely, there was a wand shop in one of Paris' Wizarding districts. They could make an outing of it, if they wanted.

And god, he wanted.

Draco slunk around the counter and pressed up against Snape's back, rubbing his nose into his cheek until Snape turned his head and kissed him. Magic breached the gaps between them, flowing from either side to unite in the center.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://fangqueen.tumblr.com/), [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/), and [DW](https://fangqueen.dreamwidth.org/) as well!


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